


I Cry And I Beg

by mywonderworld



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cockles, Frottage, M/M, SDCC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywonderworld/pseuds/mywonderworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a quickie because I just /had/ to write something after the leaked gag reel and the song that it reminded me of okay? It's a bit sloppy because I rushed it. Not one of my best fics but it'll do for now.~ After a long day at Comic Con, Jensen's ready to relax, but Misha stops by to "recreate" the most talked about bit of the gag reel. </p><p>Title and song mentioned is Lovefool - The Cardigans: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IwQbXrwYZAg<br/>Or if you prefer a male cover of the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHs7ujY29EY<br/>Teeheehee<br/>This is only my second time writing smut so be nice!</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Cry And I Beg

Comic Con, as always, was a crazy mess. The crowds, the fans, the screaming, all of it was amplified times ten once the huge San Diego nerd-fest came around. And it’s not like Jensen doesn’t love it, he really does. But after a couple hours of answering the same repetitive questions and having cameras and pens shoved in your face, it’s draining. So needless to say, getting back to the hotel is relief.  
He huffs and lays his head back against glass as the elevator creeps upward where he knows a soothing soft bed and mini bar await. Jared’s staying at another hotel with Genevieve and Thomas so it’s just him and Clif for now with Misha being MIA for the past few hours.

“You coming down to go with us to dinner, later?,” Clif yawns out.  
  
“Yeah. Jared and Gen comin’?” He can hear his own voice lagging from the day’s events, a hint of that Southern accent peeking through with every vowel.  
  
“Yep. Six o’ clock. Then the flight leaves for Vancouver at 8,” Clif replies as the elevator dings and they shuffle out into the long, deserted hallway.  
  
“See ya,” Clif mumbles and makes his way to the right corridor while Jensen turns to his room, 626. Finally, a moment to himself. But he doesn’t even have the key card out of his pocket yet when he hears humming from the stairwell behind him. Some 90s pop song, he thinks. He turns and there’s Misha, huge, bubbly smile plastered on his face, looking only a bit burned out in the eyes.  
  
“You know there’s an elevator, right?,” Jensen asks with a grin.  
  
“What? I don’t always want to take the lazy man’s route like some people I know,” Misha smirks.  
  
“What are you doing over here? I thought your room was down one floor?”  
  
“It is I just thought I’d stop by a second…you know. ” Misha reaches down to the front of Jensen’s jeans. He stands frozen solid for a second, alarmed eyes trailing Misha’s wandering fingers.  
“Uh…Misha?”  
  
With a thumb and forefinger, Misha plucks the key card poking out of Jensen’s pocket and turns it over to him with a smile.  
 _Well that was…new._  
  
Jensen slides the card through and punches in a few numbers. “After you, m’lady,” Misha says with a swing of his arm outward.  
“Shut up.”  
They’re inside and Jensen shrugs off his suit jacket and heads straight for the full mini-bar in the corner, eager as can be to wind down for the first time in what seems like eternity.  
“You want anything?,” he asks, back turned, not really paying much mind to Misha seated on the ottoman by the bed, just ready to crack open a bottle of anything.  
“No, I’m fine.”  
Jensen picks up a bottle of Cognac and pours it in a glass. “How could you not want a drink after that? That crowd was the biggest I’ve seen in a few years. Completely pumped. All riled up, just for me, too,” he jokes.  
He turns with the glass to his lips and Misha is right behind him, a smirk strewn mysteriously across his face.  
“You know what they were real excited about though, was that gag reel at the panel, they loved it.” Misha’s tone is changed, a little deeper, kind of dark.  
  
“Yeah they were feeling it,” Jensen mutters, taking another sip to cover the awkward silence.  
Misha grabs the glass from him and Jensen lets him take a swig, watching the brown liquid hit his soft tongue and parted lips. Misha swallows loud and sits the glass down on the end table.

“They eat that shit up. Especially your perfect little improv that you know teases the hell out of them.”  
Jensen chuckles shyly with a flush of red spreading over his cheeks. “Mine, huh? I think that whole spiel was on you, Misha,” he grins looking up into happy, blue eyes.  
“Oh, was it?,” Misha steps closer, forcing Jensen to lean against the wall. “I think it might’ve been that submissive little pout on your face, don’t you think?”

Jensen clears his throat anxiously after that one. They always do this, and they both know it. The flirting, it’s sometimes effortless and unintentional, but Jensen would be the last to admit that much of the time it’s purposeful. When he’s teasing Jared, it’s different. That’s his little brother. But Misha, nope, Misha’s always felt different. From the time they first met, they had some unspeakable intimate connection. But right now, that look in Misha’s eyes isn’t his usual playful, flirty demeanor. Misha’s standing so close, he can smell his minty breath, tainted a bit from the alcohol he just sipped. There’s a faint smell of sweat and cologne lingering on him, the same way he smells after a long day of shooting. Those blue, menacing irises are burning holes into him, pinning him to the wall.

“I think they like seeing Dean on his knees,” Misha winks. Jensen’s eyes go wide and he tries to hide his surprise with another forced chuckle.  
 _He always does this. What the hell is wrong with me?_  
His mouth won’t form any words so he just looks down at the carpet, praying Misha won’t notice how shy he’s feeling.

“I…um…,” he whispers to his shoes. His body is burning so vigorously hot now, from the tips of his toes, deep inside his belly and scorches his face red. He can feel something quiver in his pants and he tries his best not to acknowledge it, force it back down with wishful thinking because this is so scary and new he could just run out of the room right now. But his feet stay planted, one into the carpet, the other backed up, flat against the wall.

“Can you blame them?,” Misha’s voice is almost inaudible now as he takes one more step closer, his nose grazing Jensen’s cheek. One quick movement and his hand is trailing under Jensen’s Batman T-shirt and around the rim of his jeans.  
  
“Misha,” he sighs and thumps his head against the hard wall. It’s not a rejection; in fact it’s the opposite. The spill of Misha’s name is a request, the equivalent of “ _please._ ” He doesn’t know how or why, but he wants it, and that is reaffirmed by the growing hardness in his jeans, and the hardness establishes reality. The reality of what he’s about to do.  
  
“Maybe I’d like to see him on his knees again. Maybe we could recreate it,” Misha mumbles against Jensen’s lips before giving him a little peck at the corner of his mouth. It’s not the first time. Misha gives him playful kisses nearly every day, just friend-to-friend platonic smooches out of the way of cameras and screaming fans, who would no doubt, gossip even more than usual. Only this one lingers and sizzles on his flesh even after Misha pulls away to grip Jensen’s jaw and turn his gaze upward.

“You gonna make me beg?,” he pleads into widened, green eyes. The yearning in Misha’s furrowed brow is all it takes for Jensen to cross that line. He’s done resisting, he’s finished and now he’s letting go. He kneels down slowly, gaze still planted on Misha’s face.

“I…won’t make you…beg,” Jensen stutters, and with that Misha loses suave composure and is unbuckling and unzipping so fast like the jeans are about to bust open if he doesn’t. He pulls them to the thigh area, desperation too gripping to allow him to pull them all way off.  
His cock is firm and dripping and Jensen goes at it like he’s starving for it. Drawing it toward his mouth, he sucks at the slit first, drinking the warmth down, letting the saltiness slide down the back of his throat. He’s no pro at this, by any means, so he just does what he knows he likes himself. A little spit there, a small twist of the hand here, a line of kisses underneath, all while Misha watches him, half-grinning at every slurp and cluck of the tongue. He circles the head with the slippery muscle, twirling under and over, folding up spit and salty fluid inside his craving mouth.

“You got it,” Misha whispers, petting Jensen’s hair. Jensen takes it deep into his throat and sucks with force, making little popping noises with his hallowed cheeks.

Getting more confident with every moan coming from Misha, he pulls it out to flick a snake-like tongue at the head, lapping up leftover spit and flowing precome. He feels wetness trickling down the corners of his mouth and it makes him feel wild, an animal with adrenaline that could last days.  
Misha jerks Jensen’s head back by the hair at his crown.  
“Get up and unzip,” he demands wickedly. He obeys and before he knows it, Misha’s pulling and twisting him around, slamming him down on his back against the mattress.  
He kisses hard, slamming his teeth against skin, while he jerks on Jensen’s half-undone pants and yanks them down just enough to reveal his juicing, wet cock.  
“I knew it,” Misha grins.

“Mhm,” he murmurs incredulously.  
Jensen shoves his tongue in fiercely, stabbing at the other’s inner cheeks and running over sharp teeth. He’s not even thinking, not processing, he’s just going, without fear or intimidation or worrisome thoughts about who may read his mind tomorrow and pinpoint what happened here. None of it even matters right now. Nothing, not the flight back to Vancouver that they may or may not miss, not the crumpled script in his bag in the corner that he hasn’t run through, not even whose heart this may break if it ever gets out. Not one damn thing matters in this second.  
He yanks on Misha’s waist to position him where he wants him, lining up his slippery cock beside Misha’s hardness and the space under his hipbone. It’s so warm and sweat-sticky, he holds back a smile of forming ecstasy.

“Say you love me,” Misha breathes into an open mouth as he thrusts up, letting his dick glide across Jensen’s shaft.

“Gotta cry and beg if you want me to say it,” Jensen mumbles through a grin and lunges his hips, letting his dick slip around in the little, warm cocoon space. Misha grinds back down, reaching a hand to grip both dicks and hold them together snugly in warmth.  
“Say that you love me,” he pleads.  
Jensen croaks out a moan as the pace picks up, dicks slipping past each other, wrapped in Misha’s palm, creamy precome making the glide all the more effortless. They’re rolling along with each other’s movements now, hip bones slamming into each other, making angry red blotches.  
“Mmm, Misha.” He holds out the ending vowel, long and loud. It’s still not what the other man wants to hear.  
“Love me, love me, say that you love me,” Misha huffs in a sing-songy voice and a sideways smirk.  
 _That!_ , Jensen says to himself, _That’s the song he was humming._

“Mmm, Misha. Misha,” Jensen teases with stuttered words, mussed with raspy breath.  
“Say it…please.” The words fall out so pouty and needy but Jensen’s in the mood to torment.  
“What if I don’t mean it?,” he asks, biting down on his lip as the familiar surge of tension creeps up between his legs.  
“Then pretend.” Misha’s bottom-half is shuddering and tensing and his flushed face scrunches into a scowl. He rolls his hips faster, moving his hand ever so slightly, milking both their cocks.  
“I…I love you,” Jensen sighs quietly in between breaths. “I love you, Misha.”  
Misha’s thighs quake as he lets out a soft, repetitive moan. He comes, spurting white, thick juice over Jensen’s T-shirt and into his pubes. Only seconds later, the other does the same, giving a soft gasp, a whimper, and his milky come shoots onto Misha’s arm and down onto their disheveled jeans.

With a groan, Misha props himself back up on his knees to take a look at Jensen breathing heavily, head thrown back against the rumpled hotel comforter.

“What are you looking at?,” Jensen asks after a moment, feeling the modesty creeping up on him again.  
Misha smirks, like he’s got a secret.  
Jensen playfully pinches and twists a covered nipple. “What?!”  
“Ow, asshole!”  
“Then why are you looking at me like that, man?”  
Misha smiles, showing his teeth and gums. “You weren’t pretending,” he says.  
  
Jensen shoots him a confused and curious frown. “I….what, now?”  
  
But it’s too late. Misha is off the bed, zipping up his messy pants already.  
“Misha, I wasn’t pretending? What does that even mean?” Jensen’s struggling to button his pants and climb out of bed, but Misha’s hand is already on the doorknob.  
  
“Misha, Wait! What do you mean?,” he bellows, stumbling to get to the door.  
  
With a cheesy smirk and a taunting wave, Misha’s out and he prances into the hallway leaving Jensen with only the faint sound of his voice trailing off:  
“Love me, love me, say that you love me. Fool me, fool me, go on and….”


End file.
